On Becks

"David Beckham is gorgeous. I loves his accent and he's extremely attractive."

- my nurse, fifteen minutes ago.

Okay, this post is about fame and sport. Why, for example, did David Beckham become a media darling and Paul Scholes did not. Why Maria Sharapova is the most marketable female tennis player, and Justine Henin is anonymous. Why I can't find a single frickin' thing to write about.

No, actually, this post is all about Becks.

I have a perverse fascination with Mr and Mrs Spice. I've always wondered how much of their fame is based on substance, and how much based on the necessity to have someone the media can talk about. If Posh hadn't met Becks, I'm sure the tabloids would've spontaneously generated a glamour couple of sell papers. After the death of Princess Di, they had to.

It's ironic that I'm the one talking about this. I am, admittedly, a member of the prawn-sandwich brigade. If it wasn't for SBS and internet streaming, I would never have found Arsenal. I love Arsenal for its effete artistry and the inherent fragility of their playing style. I am the produce of the fusion of football and celebrity that occured when Murdoch bought the Premier League. And I'm a bit sad that I'll never know what football meant before SkySports. I've got no idea what it means to be standing in the middle of a crowded North Bank, singing myself hoarse over a bunch of muddy, clod-hoffing centre-backs.

Anyway, I remember having an online chat with an anti-Beckham nutcase. I found it strange that anyone could have such an irrational hatred of a guy who, all things considered, seems like a decent bloke. Sure, he's over-rated. Sure, he's rich, famous and pretty. Still, he's worked hard to get where he is, and you can't begrudge a guy his good fortune. Not a bad bloke.

And then, fifteen minutes ago, my nurse said the above. And I figured... jealousy? Beckham, on the face of it, has everything. For us mere mortals, it's perfectly reasonable to feel the odd twinges of resentment.

It shouldn't be this way. Faustian bargains usually have a catch. Fame doesn't equal respect, money doesn't equal success, beauty doesn't equal charm. For every blessing bestowed, you're cursed in equal, proportionate measure.

I'm sure Beckham hasn't got everything. But I think most of us resentful males would like to know what he's lacking. Which is why he's so often hated.

I don't know. I'm just really desperate to find something to write about.